Sometimes I sit in my chair.
Sometimes I just grow hair.
I like sitting in my chair,
and I like having some hair.

And I hope you're having
a very lovely day!
I hope this song sees you
well on your way!

I hope we all survive the virus,
and it does not turn us to zombies.
I don't want glowing red eyes!
I don't want to eat anyone's insides.

And I just want to sing a sing,
preferably not about canabalism!
I want to sing some lovely songs,
not singing about eating meat.

I hope that we survive.
I hope that some lovely people survive.
And maybe, maybe we'll have countries.
Maybe, maybe we won't.

But I'm hoping that the cops, yes, die,
because, you know, they're bastards out of sight.
I hope, yes, that the cops they die,
or at least all their racist insides, yes, cry.

Because the zombies love racists.
They taste the best, that's what they say.
Their meat is flavored from all their hate,
so they're yummy, yummy stuff. *licks lips*

But, I don't want that, no, no.
I don't want that, oh, no, no, no!
I just want to sit here and sing my song.
I will move, yes, right along.